The next day she was as nervous as a schoolgirl as seven o'clock approached. She had never been so anxious, or so uncertain, in her whole life. She had hardly spoken a dozen words to the man, yet she had thought of little else since they met. His image was permanently etched in her mind. She could still hear the sound of his voice, soft yet deep.

The rumble of a truck sent her running to the living room window. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw him pull up in front of the driveway.

Her stomach was churning with excitement as she ran to the door. She looked out the peephole, watching him as he opened the door of a late-model black Chevy pickup and stepped out. He wore a pair of black jeans, a dark-green T-shirt, and a black leather jacket that seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders. She had forgotten how big he was.

Her mouth went dry as she watched him walk to the rear of the Chevy. He lowered the tailgate and then, with no apparent effort, picked up the bed frame and carried it toward the house.

Adrianna opened the door as he reached the porch. "Hi." She opened the screen door, then stepped back so he could enter the house, frowning when he remained on the porch. "Come on in."

Foolish girl,Navarre mused as he crossed the threshold.It was never safe to invite a vampire into one's home, for, once invited, he was free to come again . But then, she had no way of knowing who, or what, she had asked inside.

And still he hesitated, some deeply buried sense of honor questioning whether he wanted to violate the sanctuary of her home.

She was frowning at him, obviously puzzled by his reluctance. Drawing a deep breath, he crossed the threshold. "Where do you want this?"

"Down the hall. First door on the left."

Adrianna ran a nervous hand over her hair. Her house, not large to begin with, seemed to shrink with his presence.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked when he returned.

"I can manage."

He made several trips back and forth, carrying the canopy, then the mattress as if they weighed nothing at all.

As he carried the box spring into her room, she followed him down the hall.

Navarreglanced up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time. "Shall I set this up for you?"

"Please."

Removing his jacket, he tossed it over a chair, then pulled the necessary tools out of his back pocket and began to bolt the frame together.

Adrianna toyed with the collar of her blouse as she watched the play of muscles in his broad back and shoulders. He worked quickly, efficiently, with an ease and grace of movement she'd never seen in a man before. His hair fell over his forehead, and she had an almost irresistible urge to smooth it back.

Too soon, he was finished. She watched as he reached for his jacket and shrugged it on.

"I'll write you a check," Adrianna said. "How much do I owe you for delivery and set-up?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"But..." She bit down on her lip, trying to think of a way to repay him for his help, to keep him there just a little longer.

"I made an apple pie this afternoon," she said cheerfully. "Would you care for a slice?"

"No, thank you."

She smiled to cover her disappointment, then turned and hurried into the kitchen to get her checkbook. In spite of his willingness to set up the bed, it was obvious that Mr. V. Navarre wasn't interested in spending any more time with her than necessary. And that was fine with her, Adrianna thought irritably. He looked like an old grouch, anyway.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Damn, he'd snuck up on her again. Adrianna whirled around, the check in her hand. "I don't know what you mean."

"I didn't mean to insult your hospitality," he explained quietly, and the sound of his voice moved over her like a caress. "It's just that I... I'm on a rather strict diet."

He didn't strike her as a health nut, and he sure didn't look as if he needed to lose weight, but she kept both opinions to herself. Instead, she shrugged, as if his refusal to accept her hospitality was of no importance.

"Well, thanks again for your time and trouble," she said, and thrust the check toward him.

"It was no trouble, I assure you." Taking the check, he folded it in half, and slid it into the pocket of his jeans.

Her fingers tingled from where his touched hers. It was most disconcerting, she thought, the way his slightest touch went through her like an electrical charge.

"Well, thanks again," Adrianna said. "For everything."

"You're welcome."

She waited, breath held, to see if he would kiss her hand again.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he closed the short distance between them and took her hand in his. Though his skin was cool, a rush of heat engulfed her, and then he was bowing over her hand, pressing his lips to her flesh, making her heart pound as if she'd just run a marathon.

And when he looked into her eyes, she knew she'd never be the same again.

"Good evening, Miss Grant."

"Good night."

She stood in the doorway, watching as he walked down the porch stairs and climbed into the Chevy, and she wanted nothing more than to run after him.

She waited, hoping he'd wave, hoping he'd look back at her, but he pulled away from the curb without a backward glance.

Navarreswore softly as he drove away from her house. What was there about the girl that touched him so, that made him burn with desire when every instinct warned him away? She was a nice girl in every sense of the word, he thought bleakly.

He shook his head ruefully. She lived in a small white house in a small town. According to her business card, Miss Adrianna Grant owned a combination bookstore/coffee shop located onWind Willow Road . No doubt she went to church every Sunday, dated a fine, upstanding young man, and hoped to marry, settle down, and have the requisite two children, preferably a boy and a girl. She had probably never traveled more than a hundred miles from home in her whole life, never seen poverty or cruelty first hand.

She was the kind of woman he made it a habit to avoid. A nice girl. Sweet and innocent. Untouched by the ugliness of the world.

He slammed his foot on the brake as he pulled into the driveway of the old house he'd called home for the last five years, annoyed because he couldn't put Miss Adrianna Grant out of his mind, because, for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he wanted something he couldn't have.

Stepping out of the truck, he closed the door with a bang. For a moment, he stood staring at the moonlight shining on the water and then, with a sigh, he walked down the steep, narrow path that led to the beach.

Removing his shoes and socks, he walked along the shore, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He could scarcely recall the last time he'd been involved with a woman. Had it been a hundred years ago? A thousand? He searched his mind for a face, a name, but none came to mind save that of Katlaina.

He swore under his breath. Katlaina. Even after all this time, he had no trouble summoning her image to mind, remembering how beautiful she had looked the first night he made love to her, the way she'd felt in his arms, the sound of her voice as she whispered that she loved him...

A low cry of anguish rumbled inNavarre 's throat as eons of loneliness rose up within him. Once, long ago, Shaylyn had found him. She had been as beautiful as he remembered, her black hair as shiny as polished ebony, her eyes as dark as a moonless night. He couldn't deny that he had been happy to see her. It had been a relief to be able to be himself, to share his innermost thoughts with someone who knew who and what he was.

They had talked the whole night long, parting at dawn to take their rest, and then met again the following evening.

Shaylyn had asked him to go toGreece with her, to stay with her for a lifetime or two. At first, he had refused, but, in the end, he had agreed. With Shaylyn, he didn't have to hide his true nature, he didn't have to watch every word, every action. He didn't have to make excuses for not eating, for sleeping during the day, for the blood hunger that burned like a sickbed fever through his body, overshadowing his humanity.

But, as comfortable as he had felt in her presence, he had left her before the year was out. Shaylyn was a true predator. She relished the hunt, the chase, the kill. He did what he had to do in order to survive; she did it for pleasure. He took what sustenance he needed and left his victims alive; she toyed with those she hunted, relishing their fear, draining them of life. In the end, he had kissed her good-bye, wished her well, and left her without regret.

There had been no one special in his life since then. When the needs of the flesh grew overwhelming, he sought out a woman who possessed the Dark Gift, a woman who understood his needs, who could endure the force of his lovemaking, who was not repelled by the otherworldly light that sometimes glowed in his eyes. Such encounters inevitably left him feeling physically satisfied but empty deep inside.

Over the span of time, he had learned to control his physical needs as he had learned to control his lust for blood. He had immersed himself in learning, in travel. He'd visited every country in the world, studying their diverse cultures, learning their languages, their religions. His only regret was that he could not sample the native foods.

Occasionally, he had come across others of his kind. He treated them with respect, outwardly friendly but inwardly always on guard, especially when in the arms of the women of his kind.

And when the loneliness grew too great to bear, when the truth of what he was weighed heavily on his conscience, he went to ground, burying himself deep in the earth until the endless darkness and the eternal quiet forced him to the surface once more. And after a rest of thirty or forty years, he was ready to face the future again, eager to go out and discover what new inventions and changes had occurred while he slept.

And then he had come here, to this sleepy little town, and decided to stay. It was quiet, peaceful, the last place in the world anyone would expect to find a vampire.

He had bought the house onOld Piney Branch Road because it reminded him of a Victorian home he owned inEngland , and then he had arranged for the furniture and other items he had collected over the last several hundred years to be shipped there. Who better to run an antique store than a man who had lived for hundreds of years, who had known some of the great craftsman of days gone by?

He had been happy here, he thought, as happy as he had been anywhere. Content. At peace with himself and the world around him. Until yesterday, when a petite young woman with dark blond hair and innocent blue eyes had wandered into his house and made him wish for a way of life he could never have.

Adrianna sat on the edge of her new bed, running her hand over the antique ivory lace bedspread she had found in her great grandmother's trunk earlier in the day, remembering how Navarre had filled the room.

He was an extraordinary man, she thought, remembering the intensity of his gaze, the husky sound of his voice, the ease with which he had carried the bed into the house.

Rising, she went to stand in front of the mirror that hung over the antique oak chest of drawers on the other side of the room.

She wasn't beautiful, she thought, but she was passably pretty. She didn't have the slender shape of a model, but her figure wasn't bad. At least it went in and out in all the right places. She'd never had any trouble finding a date, and even the men who weren't romantically attracted to her seemed to find her company pleasant. Except forNavarre . He hadn't paid her any attention at all, she thought pensively. And that was too bad, because he was the only man she'd found the least bit interesting since she broke up with Kevin over a year ago.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and went into the kitchen. Fixing herself a piece of pie and a glass of milk, she went out on the front porch. It was a pretty night, with just enough of a breeze to keep the heat at bay.

The houses on either side of her were dark. Old Mrs. Lopez always went to bed when the sun went down, and Mr. and Mrs. Kelsey had gone toFlorida to visit their daughter.

Sitting down in one of the deck chairs, she propped her feet on the porch rail. "V," she mused between bites of pie. "Victor? Vaughn? Vance?"

She grunted softly. "Vinnie? Vito?" No, he didn't look Italian.

"Vladimir?" She chuckled softly. "Vladimir Navarre."

She put the dish and the glass down on the floor beside her and gazed up at the stars, feeling suddenly lonely.

She wished that she hadn't said no when Marty Defore called and asked her to go out with him tonight. Even though she didn't find Marty the least bit attractive, he was a nice guy and they always had a good time together...

She blew out a deep breath. She didn't want to go out with Marty. She wanted to seeNavarre .

A movement to her left drew her gaze and she saw him standing at the end of her driveway, almost as though she had conjured him up from her mind.

He inclined his head in her direction. "Good evening, Miss Grant."

"Hi." She swung her legs down and sat forward in her chair, her arms folded on the railing. "Nice night for a walk," she remarked, and then thought how foolish that must sound. Surely he hadn't walked here from Cliff House.

"Yes."

His gaze met hers and a long silence fell between them. Adrianna felt her mouth go dry as she tried to think of something to say, but words failed her and she could only stare at him, her gaze trapped in his, like a moth helplessly snared in a web.

He seemed to be a part of the darkness. His hair was the color of the night, his skin as pale as the moon. He was wearing the same black jeans and leather jacket he'd worn earlier that evening, the black of his clothing blending into the shadows that surrounded him.

Navarrestared at her, mesmerized by her youth, her beauty, the innocence in her clear blue eyes. Her hair, loosed from the coil at her nape, fell well past her shoulders and he had a sudden urge to run his hands through her hair, to press her body to his and feel her warmth. Her skin would be soft and warm, vibrant with youth. Her blood would be as sweet as her lips. Even from here, he could smell the life flowing through her veins...

The hunger, kept under tight control for centuries, rose up within him, clawing at his vitals with fingers of flame.

He felt the prick of his fangs against his tongue and he cursed softly, looking away lest she see the blood lust that was surely glowing in his eyes.

Adrianna blinked. Feeling as if she'd been freed from some sorcerer's spell, she shook her head. "What are you doing here?"

He lifted one black brow. "Walking."

"You walked here from Cliff House?" she exclaimed. "But that's almost ten miles."

Navarreshrugged. "It's good exercise, good discipline."

"I see," Adrianna replied, though she didn't understand at all. "Would you... would you care for a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you." He clenched his fists, suppressing the hunger raging through him. "It's late. I should be going."

"Maybe some other time."

"Perhaps. Good night, Miss Grant."

"Good night."

He turned on his heel and walked back the way he'd come, knowing he had to put as much distance between them as possible, knowing that, for his sake, and for hers, he must never see her again.